


We're All Born Naked (and the Rest Is Drag)

by temporal-infidelity (gyabou)



Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: Crossdressing, Drag Queens, Fluff, Gender Identity, M/M, Self-Discovery, Sexual Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-01-22 19:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18533896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyabou/pseuds/temporal-infidelity
Summary: "He wasn’t quite sure what he expected -- maybe some bad song and dance numbers, an awkward striptease or two. He didn’t expect to enjoy it. He didn’t expect to be alternately laughing so hard he almost choked on his beer and staring, entranced, as his new friend Angel performed some kind of out-of-this world contortionist act. He didn’t expect to find himself marveling at the transformations that had gone into this performance, and he really didn’t expect to wonder how it was done. And whether he could do it."Nathan tries out drag.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhhhhh ... I have no excuse for this, really. I feel like Nathan's a bit OOC but whatever, this is my stupid fantasy, okay. This story was one-third inspired by the "Plain Wrong" webisode, one-third inspired by Luba, Robert Sheehan's character in "Mute", and one-third inspired by the fact that I'm addicted to watching "UNHhhh" and keeping thinking about how similar Katya's sense of humor is Nathan's/Klaus's. They'd definitely be friends.
> 
> I'm not a drag queen, I've done some research to write this but I'm sure I got some things wrong, so please accept my apologies. For everything, not just drag-related mistakes, lol

This was how Nathan Young began his career as a drag queen:

It was a Friday night, the weather was good, and he had been ditched by the rest of the ASBOs, leaving him all by his lonesome as he made his way from bar to bar. He didn’t have a lot of cash to get drunk with so he was relying mainly on charm to try weedle free drinks out of lady bartenders, which wasn’t always successful. Somewhere between attempts three and four, he encountered a hot girl with a short black bob in a spandex cat suit on the street.

“Come to my show later, baby,” she said, and handed him a flyer. “Tell them Angel sent you and you’ll get in free, you’re cute.” She winked.

“Thanks darling,” he said around his cigarette, and peered at the flyer. It took him about a full minute to ascertain that the flyer was advertising a drag show, and that the hot girl who’d just hit on him was, in fact, a drag queen. By that time, she was already gone.

“Hm,” he said thoughtfully, and dropped his smoke on the ground and crushed it under his shoe. “Why not? Free’s free!” _Never let it be said that Nathan Young is closed-minded_ , he told himself -- except maybe for all that “chick with a dick” business he’d indulged in the night of his big arrest.

True to her word, Angel’s name got him into the show for free. Even better, when he tried his fluttery-eyed flirting technique on the male bartender, it actually worked, and soon he was nursing a complimentary beer and sitting back on a stool to enjoy the show.

He wasn’t quite sure what he expected -- maybe some bad song and dance numbers, an awkward striptease or two. He didn’t expect to enjoy it. He didn’t expect to be alternately laughing so hard he almost choked on his beer and staring, entranced, as his new friend Angel performed some kind of out-of-this world contortionist act. He didn’t expect to find himself marveling at the transformations that had gone into this performance, and he really didn’t expect to wonder how it was done. And whether he could do it.

After the show was over, he lingered, slowly making his way over to the stage as the floor gradually emptied. He spied Angel perched on edge of the stage, counting her tips. She saw him and smiled. “You came!”

He nodded, a little uncharacteristically dumbstruck.

“You liked it?”

“Yeah. You’re very … bendy.”

She winked. “Well, I try.”

He wet his lips. “Look, can I ask a question?”

Angel regarded him a little warily. “What?”

“How … how do you do it?”

“What, the contortions?”

“No, no --” and he gestured widely. “Everything else.”

“You mean the drag?” He nodded, and she laughed. “Do you want to do drag, honey?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe?” And he struck a pose. “Don’t you think I’d be good?”

She laughed again, full throated, and hopped down from the stage. “What’s your name?”

“Nathan.”

“Well, Nathan, come with me.”

  


Angel took him backstage, where he was suddenly surrounded by many drag queens in various states of undress. As she sat him down at her workstation, she removed her wig, revealing dark hair under a translucent cap. “So, you’ve never done any drag before at all?”

He shook his head, then stopped. “I’ve worn a dress,” he said. “A wedding dress, actually.” He remembered the way the smooth silkiness of the material had felt against his skin, the way the skirt had swooshed around him, how the corset built inside had held him inwards, even though it hadn’t quite fit him right. He remembered how he’d loved it. “And I looked pretty fucking devastating, I’ll have you know. What are you doing?”

Angel had taken his jaw in her hands and was running a finger along his cheek. “Cleanshaven,” she said. “These might be an issue though,” and she thumbed his eyebrows.

“Hey,” he said, waggling them. “Those are my most alluring feature.” He peered up at her face. “What do you do with yours?” He’d only just realized that he couldn’t see them, at all, there was just eyeshadow where they should be, and above that, a carefully arched, drawn on brow. “You don’t shave them, do you?”

“No, though some girls do,” she said. She reached over and started rooting around for something on her table. “I’ll show you, though it might not work on you, I think you’ll need something stronger. Ah ha! Here it is.” And from the mess she produced a little purple tube.

He stared at it for a minute. “Is that a glue stick?” he asked skeptically.

“It is indeed,” she said. “That’s what most of us use.” She uncapped the stick and twisted it until waxy purple glue emerges from it. “Last chance to back out.”

He stared at the glue stick, wiggled his eyebrows again, and shrugged. “Sure.”

The glue felt weird and sticky, and after a few minutes, stiff. Angel smeared his brows down as best she could, then capped the glue stick and tossed it aside. “We’ll let that dry before we do a second coat.”

As she began sorting through foundations for the right color, a red-headed, dark skinned queen came over. “Angel Mackenzie,” she said. “What have you got here? Is this your new daughter?”

“Maybe,” Angel said, “I’m interviewing her for the position right now.”

“Oooh, I want to help!”

The next hour was a confusing blur of various terms he didn’t really understand -- foundation, contour, highlighter, setting powder -- while Angel and the other queen, whose name was Veronique, did all sorts of mystifying shit to his face as he just tried to stay as still as possible or risk their wrath. Veronique pulled his hair back from his face with a headband, and Angel covered his glue-sticked eyebrows with more foundation, then drew new eyebrows just above them, thick and bold and arched.

By the time they were finished, Nathan’s face felt like it had acquired a hardened shell approximately five centimeters thick. Facial expressions took extra effort. But when he looked in the mirror at the end product, he was transfixed. Despite his familiar, bushy hair still being present, he barely recognized himself. His (attractive, gorgeous, sort of dopey) face was transformed; he suddenly understand why they’d been going on about contouring so much, because somehow the dark make up they’d applied to his jawline and cheeks had created some kind of optical illusion, completely changing the shape of his face. His eyes looked larger, his lips rounder, his nose more refined. It was as if some other person had been pulled out from within him and taken over his body.

He fucking loved it.

“How … what … how … holy shit ...” he muttered, leaning closer and staring at the mirror. He looked up at Angel and Veronique’s faces reflected next to his in the mirror. They were laughing.

“This one’s hooked,” Veronique said as Nathan tentatively touched his face, terrified of ruining it. “Don’t worry, we set it, it’ll take more than that to mess your paint up.”

Angel sighed and stretched. “Well, that’s my good task done for the day. Now I really need to go untuck.”

While the two of them finished de-dragging themselves, Nathan just stared and stared at himself in the mirror. When Angel told him he should start to clean himself up because they were leaving soon, he mumbled, “I don’t want to take it off.”

“You have to, unless you want to go home like that.”

He knew he couldn’t, not unless he wanted to get the shit kicked out of him by some chav, but the thought of scrubbing all that beautiful work off his face still depressed him.

“Look,” Angel said, patting him on the head, “come back next Friday and I’ll make you up again, maybe even show you how to do it, okay?”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

And so he reluctantly began to scrub all the make up off -- it took about ten of those remover wipes that they all used, and even then he felt like he could still smell and feel it on his face. But he didn’t mind. The whole walk back to the community center, the whole time he pulled all of his stuff out of the locker and set up his bed again, the whole time he laid there and tried to go to sleep, just keep thinking about it, and wishing the week would go by fast so he could try again.

  


Was it weird to want to be a drag queen when you were straight?

Maybe, but then again, he’d sucked a few cocks in his time, so maybe he wasn’t really all that straight after all. He’d never really given it much thought. What you did when you were drunk didn’t mean anything, after all, did it?

However, that combined with a deep desire to dress up as a woman, and possibly also coupled with the troublesome wanking fantasies he’d had about Barry ever since that bullshit with the tattoo had happened … well, if it walked like a duck, etc.

Bisexual, maybe then. In any case, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t get the image of his reflection in the mirror out of his head all week. He avoided Kelly like the plague, worried she’d catch him thinking about it. He spent a lot of time staring at his face in the mirror, trying to figure out how it could look so different, and wondering what he’d look like with a wig and the whole shebang. He even found himself doodling pictures of it on napkins and the like when he went out to the chip shop one night with the others, and he had to scrunch it up and stick it in his pocket when he caught Barry looking at him curiously.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed of it, exactly; it was just private, something he was mulling over, and it was nobody’s business, anyway.

Friday came. After some consideration, he went at his legs and underarms with his razor in the community center showers after everyone left for the day, which took an interminable amount of time (why the hell did women put up with it? Though his legs did feel very nice and smooth when he was finally done). He had also scrounged up enough cash to pay the cover and throw a tip on stage during Angel’s act. He was worried she might have forgotten, but after the show she went out to look for him, and brought him backstage again.

“This is Nathan, everybody,” she introduced him. “For now.”

“For now?”

“If you’re really going to do this, you need to come up with a drag name, honey,” she said. “Better start thinking of it soon.”

This time she tried to get him to apply the make up himself, which was pretty disastrous, and she had to keep stepping in and fixing his mistakes. When they were done, Angel asked him if he wanted to learn how to tuck. “That’s usually where people turn back if they’re not going to do it.”

He was a little uncertain, and when she described to him what it actually entailed, he was _really_ uncertain. “That’s the most fucked up thing I ever heard,” he said. “How the fuck do your balls fit up there?”

“I told you, there are sockets! It’s basically where your ovaries would have been if you’d been a girl.”

“And it doesn’t hurt?”

“It’s fine, I mean it’s a little uncomfortable, but you get used to it.”

“Duct tape???”

“You don’t have to use the tape. It’s optional. Are you going to try it or not?”

He tried it. The first few minutes were excruciating because he was doing it wrong and he almost wimped out, but then he figured it out.

“This is fucking weird,” he muttered, looking down at the smooth front of his briefs.

“You really need some panties if you’re going to do this properly,” Angel said. “Along with a million other things. Here, I’m going to inch you.”

Maybe he should have been weirded out that he was standing half nude with his balls shoved up inside of him while a drag queen wrapped a corset around his waist, but somehow the whole thing was so profoundly unsexual that it didn’t even phase him. Instead, he just kept thinking about what she’d said -- about how he would need a million things if he was going to do this. Fuck.

“Here we go,” Angel said, as she cinched in his waist. “Try on this bra.”

“I can’t do this,” he said.

“What? You tucked your balls but you’re stopping at a bra?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s -- I haven’t got any money, I can’t afford to do drag.” The realization settled over him like a thunderstorm. “Fuck!”

“Oh, honey,” Angel sighed. “Here, work with me, put this on.”

Woodenly, he let her put the bra on him. “Don’t I need to stuff it?”

“Some people wear breastplates, but you can get away with just contouring your chest. Let’s find you something to wear.”

While Angel went around to talk to some of the remaining queens, Nathan looked down at cinched in waist and sighed. He ought to feel faintly ridiculous, he supposed, but mostly he just felt bummed. He was so fucking stupid; of course he’d need to spend money to do drag.

“All right,” Angel announced. She was trailed by Veronique and a few more queens who had taken interest in the proceedings. “Time to get you all dolled up.”

They showed him how to contour his chest, and added padding to his hips and ass, and then they put him in blue satiny dress. Veronique gave him a black, wavy wig to try on. And then the last thing were the shoes: silver pumps that fit him but which he could barely stand in.

And then he was done. He stood there, teetering, and took it all in. He looked like a woman -- a six foot, three inch woman (with the heels), and what was wrong with that? He ran his hands along the improbable curve of his torso in something like wonder.

“Do you like it?” Angel asked.

“I love it,” he said, a little dumbfounded.

The girls gathered around him hooted and applauded. Cries of “Yes, honey!” and “FISH!” filled the air. Nathan tried to step in the heels and promptly almost fell over, but luckily someone caught him.

“You’re going to have to practice on these,” Angel said, and reality crashed back down on him.

“Is it really expensive?” he asked. “I mean, all of this shit must add up.”

Veronique and Angel glanced at each other. “It is kind of pricey, especially when you first start out.”

“Oh.” He kicked off the shoes and hopped down, wiggling his toes. Well, it had been fun while it lasted.

He stripped off silently, untucked himself, removed the make up, and was almost back to normal when Angel came up to him. Or Brian, that was his boy name, and he was back to being a guy now. He handed Nathan a bag.

“What’s this?”

“Just a few odds and ends we had laying about.”

Inside there was a pair of plain black pumps, a few dresses, and a whole bunch of make up.

“Look, there’s lots of ways to get around the money issue. I’ve seen girls who have made dresses out of garbage bags! You can make it work, it just might be difficult for awhile. For now, you can practice with this.”

He couldn’t believe it.

“Promise me you’ll practice? And you’ll come back to work on your technique some more?”

He nodded.

“All right. Don’t break your ankle! I’m so proud, my little girl is growing up.” Brian dabbed away invisible tears. “I’ll see you next week, now get out of here.”

And he went, clutching his unexpected loot like it was pirate's treasure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Barry appears.

And practice Nathan did. He practiced the fuck out of it.

Every night he’d clomp around the community center in the heels, trying to learn how to walk like a normal human being and not a lopsided spider. He sat on a couple of milk crates in the men’s toilet practicing his face, trying to imitate Angel’s confident application, and swearing profusely at his stubborn eyebrows until he was almost prepared to shave them off after all. He stole some ladies underwear from the clothing charity bins and practiced tucking, and made very rudimentary padding of his own out of some old packing materials that he found in recycling room at the back of the community center. And every week he went back to the club to get, as Angel called it, “tutored in the fine art of drag”.

It was all going very smoothly until the night he got found out.

He was all set up in the bathroom, holding a brochure for a children’s toy drive that he’d found pinned to the bulletin board in the hallway to create a line on his cheek while he contoured it, when the door swung open. He froze and slowly raised his eyes until he saw Barry, frozen in shock in the doorway behind him.

“Um,” Barry said.

Nathan looked down at himself. He was wearing an old tank top, women’s panties, tights, and the black heels, and half his face looked like he’d just made out with a clown. There wasn’t really a way around it, was there?

“I’m learning how to do drag,” he said.

“Oh,” Barry said faintly.

“Have you got a problem with that?”

“No.”

“Great. Hand me that palette, then. No, not that one, the other one.” Barry handed it to him in silence, his eyes still bugging out of his head as he stared at him. “What are you doing here, anyway? Come to murder a few more probation workers?”

Barry blinked a few times, and then said, “I forgot my keys in the locker, and then I needed to use the loo.”

“Weren’t the doors locked?”

“You showed us how to get in through that window, remember?”

“Ah.”

“When did all this start?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Oh.” He was silent for a few minutes, fidgeting. “You look -- you look nice.”

Suddenly Nathan felt strange, all tingly and funny like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. Maybe it was just a delayed reaction to being discovered, but he needed it to stop, immediately. He closed his eyes, which felt very hot, tightly, and said in a sort of strangled voice, “Didn’t you say you needed to piss?”

Barry flinched a little. “Do you -- do you mind?”

“Help yourself.”

So Barry went in one of the stalls and Nathan slowly and carefully applied lipstick and tried to get his breathing back under control. He kept thinking about his stupid wet dreams about Barry and the night he’d almost kissed him, albeit under the influence of a stupid, magical tattoo. By the time Barry was done and had returned to the sinks to wash his hands, he was pretty much done with his face. He looked over at Barry thoughtfully as he dried his hands on a paper towel.

“Want to help cinch me?” he asked.

Barry looked confused, but shrugged and said, “Sure.”

So Nathan led him up the stairs to his makeshift bedroom.

“You walk pretty well in those,” Barry said, nodding at the heels.

“It took a lot of practice.” He’d had to be well careful, too; he kept imagining falling down the stairs in them and breaking his neck, and waking up the next day to everyone staring down at him spread eagly on the floor in a dress and high heels.

Barry was shy and fumbling as Nathan guided his hands to pull close the waist cincher. It felt weird and intimate in a way that it hadn’t the countless times Angel had done it. He almost wanted to tell him to forget about it and go home, but this had been the biggest part of the whole ordeal that he hadn’t been able to practice well on his own, so he let Barry fasten it closed.

“Can you breathe?” Barry asked, a little skeptically.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he said. He wondered if Barry would make an excuse and leave, but instead he just leaned against the railing and watched as Nathan put on his bra, then the dress, and the wig. When he was fully assembled, he struck a pose, one hand on his hip, and leered a little at the other man, letting the familiar mock confidence cover over the unease he was feeling. “How’s it look?”

“Nice,” Barry said, with that little smile of his. “Can I ask … what’s your, er, plan for all this?”

“Plan?”

“Like … it is just for fun … or?”

“Well,” Nathan said, thoughtfully, “it is for fun, but if I’m trying to get good enough that I can actually, you know. Perform.” Perform what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. He’d been trying to learn how to dance (his demonstration of his efforts to the queens at the club had resulted in uproarious laughter, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was a no go. If anything, it meant he needed to lean more into being as ridiculous as possible, and that was something he knew how to do). “I need to come up with a name, though,” he said off handedly.

“A name?”

“A drag name, a stage name, you know.”

“Like what, exactly?”

“Like, I dunno, something funny, or that just evokes something about your act and who you are.” He tried to think of some of the better names he’d heard. “Like Peaches Christ, or Sharon Needles or … Karen from Finance.” He threw back his head and laughed. “I don’t know why, that one is the fucking funniest of all to me.”

Barry looked thoughtful. Nathan still cound’t believe that he was here, that he was just hanging out, leaning against the railing in the darkened community center, asking Nathan matter of fact questions about his budding drag career. He couldn’t think of anyone else who would have responded this way to finding him half in drag in the men’s toilet of the community center. He also realized that he wasn’t worried about Barry telling anyone about him, and that realization surprised him. He … trusted Barry. And that weirded him the fuck out.

The best thing to do, he decided, to cover his discomfort, was keep talking. “My drag mother’s name is Angel MacKenzie, so I could take her last name if I wanted. House of MacKenzie!”

“Drag mother?”

“You know, she showed me the ropes and all that.”

“Ah, so that’s how it works.”

“Sometimes.” And the whole tale of how he’d discovered the drag show and how Angel had dragged him backstage and everything that had followed came tumbling out. By the end, they had both relocated to sit on the stairs, and Nathan had lit up a cigarette, which he was trying to smoke very delicately so as not to remove all of his lipstick.

“I’m going to have to figure something out for clothes,” Nathan was saying, “I need better outfits than this.”

Barry had that look of intense concentration on his face again. “I have an idea,” he said. “If you’re up for it.”

“Well, that instills me with confidence. What idea?”

“My gran,” Barry said, “she’s a seamstress.”

Nathan blinked a few times. “Your _gran_?”

“I mean, she’s really good. She used to make costumes for the theater. She could probably make anything you wanted. And she has tons of fabric, too, I’m sure you could find something in her house. She’d do it for free, too, if it was for one of my friends.”

Nathan stared at him, a little stunned. “Your gran would make dresses for me? For … a drag queen?”

Barry shrugged. “I told you, she worked in the theater world, I doubt she’d care.” At Nathan’s continued skepticism, he added, “you’ll understand when you meet her.”

 _When I meet her_ , Nathan wondered, _as if it’s already a done deal_ , but he found himself nodding, and Barry telling him he’d let him know when to come around, and before he knew it, it was a done deal.

He couldn’t quite believe it.

 

Two days later, he arrived at the door to Barry’s gran’s house. He was more than uneasy. The last time he’d been in an old lady’s house hadn’t turned out very well. But the promise of free dresses propelled him up the path to knock on the door. A few minutes later, Barry opened it. “Come inside,” he said. “I’ve told her everything, and we’ve got something to show you.”

Nathan soon saw what Barry had meant when he’d said that his grandmother could make him anything he wanted. The entire house was stuffed full of bolts of fabric, containers of sequins, beads, feathers, etc. On the walls there were framed photos of what he imagined must be productions she’d done costumes for.

Barry led him into the living room, where a tiny little old woman with an improbable pile of jet-black hair was hovering over a pile of clothes.

A pile of dresses.

A pile of beautiful, be-sequined dresses.

“Ah, there you are,” she said, squinting at him. “I thought we could try altering some of these first, I have so many that no one is going to wear. Though your height might be an issue.” She eyed him up and down thoughtfully.

“Gran, this is Nathan,” Barry said, and shot him a slightly apologetic look.

Nathan opened his mouth to say something, but Barry’s gran interrupted him. “You’ve brought your knickers? Good. Go get changed and we can get started.” And she took him by the arm and led him -- not roughly, just very firmly -- to a very pink bathroom and closed the door.

“Uh,” Nathan said, blinking. Better do what the old lady said, he thought, and changed into his padding and undergarments. He was almost done when there was a knock on the door.

“Do you need help with that thing again?” Barry’s voice was muffled on the other side of the door, and sounded a bit nervous.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. He’d managed to get it on but it wasn’t quite tight enough. “Come in.”

The door opened and Barry came in, red-faced. He was carrying a hanger with a glittery green dress on it. “Gran said to try this one first.” He hooked it over the shower rail and went to work on adjusting the cincher. Meanwhile, Nathan ran a hand over the dress. It felt smooth and lush. “Wow,” he murmured. “She really made all of these?”

“Mm hm,” Barry said, a little distracted. He hooked the last hook. “How’s that?”

He took an experimental breath. “Good.” Barry’s hand was still resting on his hip, and a little part of him wanted to lean into it, wanted it to stay there, and he wondered if he was losing his fucking mind. He was about to say something that was probably ill-advised -- _getting a little handsy, aren’t you there, Barry_ or whatever -- when Barry seemed to realize what he was doing and snatched his hand back like it was on fire.

“I’ll be in the living room,” he said quietly, and disappeared.

Nathan let out a long breath and realized his cheeks were burning. He put the dress on and counted to ten, then to twenty-five, then to fifty, and when he felt like he wasn’t the shade of a ripe tomato anymore, he went out into the living room.

Dot -- which was what Barry’s gran had insisted he call her rather than “Mrs. Bellamy” (“That was my mother-in-law, and she was a right bitch”) -- was all business, jerking him about and sticking him with pins and ripping apart her lovely creations like they were old rags.

“Everything needs to be let down,” she said, and proceeded to tear out the bottom hem of the green dress and rehem it just like that, with rapid, precise stitches, “the shoulders let out, the waist taken in -- you’re skinny as an eel, boy --”

“How did you do this?” Nathan interrupted her. He had picked up a dark fuschia frock with an elaborate pleated detail. “Can you show me?”

Dot paused and looked at him shrewdly. “You ever sewed anything?”

He shook his head.

“Well, you can’t start with that. Come here, I’ll show you how to do a simple stitch.”

While he awkwardly pushed the needle through the hem of the green dress, struggling to keep the line straight, Dot looked at her grandson, who was sitting in an armchair and watching Nathan with a strange expression. “Simon, be a good boy and go in the kitchen and get the gin down. It’s in the cabinet above the refrigerator.”

Barry dutifully disappeared into the kitchen. A few moments later he called out, “I don’t see it, Gran.”

“It’s hidden behind vinegar, so your father doesn’t see it when he visits.”

“Ah. Found it.”

Nathan snickered, and poked himself in the thumb with the needle. “Bastard,” he muttered, sucking on it.

Barry returned to the living room, juggling a half-full bottle of Bombay Sapphire and three juice glasses. “I couldn’t find any tonic, Gran.”

“Who needs that?” She took the bottle from him and poured it out into the glasses. She took a long swallow from her own. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”

Barry winced as he sipped his. Nathan chugged his down in one gulp, then stuck his tongue out. “Ugh. You’re a hard lady, Dot. Why didn’t you tell me you had such a rock n’ roll nana, Barry?”

Dot laughed. “Now, listen. I’ll finish that one up, and two more, and if you want anymore, you have to come here on Tuesday nights and I’ll show you how to sew and you can do them yourself. These old joints of mine don’t work as well as they used to, I can’t do it all myself.”

“Sure,” Nathan said, a little shocked. “Sure, that’d be great.”

They left an hour later, Nathan clutching the three promised dresses in a dry cleaning bag, both a little tipsy from the gin she’d pressed on him. Before she closed the door, Dot gave Barry a kiss on the cheek, and said to him, “Thank you for bringing your boy around, Simon. He’s got very nice legs,” and closed the door.

“Uh,” Barry said, blinking. “I’m sorry --”

Nathan burst into laughter.

 

Later that night, when he was almost asleep, his phone beeped. He picked it up. “Message from Melonfucker,” it read. _I should probably change that_ , he thought, and clicked it open.

 _What about Ambrosia?_  

Nathan blinked a few times and reread the text.  _Are you stoned barry_ , he replied, _what are you trying to say?_

 _For a name_ , Barry replied a minute later. Then: _That’s what the gods drank to make them immortal. Just thought it was fitting._

He smiled. _Nice,_ he replied. _I like it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your comments! I'm glad you're enjoying this silly thing!
> 
> The examples of drag queen names in this chapter are all real drag queens. Even Karen from Finance. (The greatest drag name ever.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it’s me, the person who always thinks she can finish a fic in three chapters and is somehow surprised each time it turns out she needs more.

“So you bend your leg … you’re left-handed, do your left leg … but keep the other one straight. Then let that leg slide forward and just sort of lower yourself to the ground until you’re lying flat.” Brian slid to the ground like a dead fish, but somehow, a graceful one.

 

Nathan narrowed his eyes, bit his lip, and tried to imitate the death drop. He landed in a jumble on the carpet. “Ow! Ow! Motherfucking ow!”

 

“You need to try to let your weight land on your shoulder and hip. Let your left leg fold under you.”

 

Grumbling he got to his feet and tried again. This time it hurt a lot less but it didn’t look anything like what Brian had done.

 

“Just practice, you’ll get it eventually,” Brian said from his spot on the floor. “Are you going to show me these dresses?”

  
They were at Brian’s flat. Nathan hadn’t been able to wait until Friday and had texted him about his adventure at Dot’s house right away, and he had demanded he come over and show him. Nathan got to his feet and unzipped the dry cleaning back, pulling out the green dress first -- it was his favorite. 

 

“Holy shit,” Brian muttered. “That is sickening. What did you say her name was?”

 

“Dot.” 

 

Brian’s brow furrowed. “Last name, honey.”

 

“Oh, Bellamy.”

 

“Dorothy Bellamy?”

 

“Must be.”

 

Brian slapped the cushion of the couch. “Bitch, you’ve got to be kidding me. You have three dresses designed by  _ Dorothy Bellamy _ ?”

 

“Do you know her?”

 

“Know her? She’s only one of the most famous costume designers in the West End in the last half century!”

 

“Oh.”

 

“How did this happen again?”

 

“She’s just my fr-- just this guy I know’s gran.”

 

“This guy you know, huh?” Brian raised an eyebrow.

 

“What?”

 

“So you told someone -- some guy -- about your little secret?” He picked up the fuschia dress from inside the bag and swirled it around. “Ooh, this is gorgeous.”

 

“I didn’t exactly tell him, he just sort of … found out.” He flashed back to the startled, but intrigued expression on Barry’s face that night in the community center toilets, the heat of his gaze as he took in Nathan’s appearance. And the way he’d looked at him when he’d been fully dressed later. How Nathan had felt …  _ seen _ in a way he never had before. The way he’d wanted him to keep looking and never stop.

 

“And then he brought you around to his fairy grandmother’s house to get you ready for the ball? Did he drive you there in a pumpkin coach, too? That was nice of him.”

 

Nathan rolled his eyes. “It’s just Barry, he’s so desperate for friends he’d donate his kidney to you if you smiled at him a little.”

 

“So he’s just a friend, is he?”

 

“Not even that.”

 

“Then why are you blushing so much?”

 

“I’m not -- fuck off.” Nathan grimaced. He fumbled inside the bag and took out the last dress, a silver one with huge sleeves. “This one’s nice, isn’t it?” He just wanted to change the subject away from Barry.  _ Please _ .

 

“Mmmm.” Brian looked at him in a knowing way. “You’re going to have to introduce me, you know.”

 

“To Dot?”

 

“Yes. And … Barry.” He gave an exaggerated wink.

 

He ignored that part. “Well, I’m going next Tuesday and she’s going to teach me how to sew, I’ll ask if I can bring you.”

 

“Stop it. Are you fucking kidding me? I had to learn how to sew from a fucking YouTube tutorial and you’re learning from  _ Dorothy Bellamy _ , I fucking hate you.”

 

Nathan couldn’t resist. “I guess it pays to be … a friend of Dorothy … hey!” Brian had picked up a pillow and smacked him over the head with it.

  
  
  


He did bring Brian with him to Dot’s, but Barry didn’t join them; he was watching his little sister. Brian was deeply disappointed. 

 

“Isn’t it a mother’s right to meet her son’s boyfriend?” he whispered as Dot busied herself setting up one of her old sewing machines for them to use.

 

“He’s not my --” 

 

Then Dot returned and Brian shut up, but Nathan was aware that his ears were burning the entire time they sat there, sewing. Nathan had never been much for dreaming about the future, but he certainly had never imagined it would involve himself sitting here with a drag queen learning how to sew from an old lady while being teased about his nonexistent boyfriend, a weird, awkward arsonist who had surprisingly strong arms.

 

Motherfucker.

  
  


The next few weeks passed by in a blur. On Tuesdays he went to Dot’s to sew, sometimes accompanied by Brian, sometimes by Barry, but never at the same time, much to his relief. On the weekends, sometimes twice a week, he went to the club or to Brian’s apartment and practiced all sorts of things -- walking, dancing, styling wigs, whatever he was finding particularly troublesome. He studied all of the different performers who worked at the club, tried to figure out what worked and what didn’t, and what he might be able to do best.

 

And between all of that, he started to hang out with Barry more.

 

He didn’t know exactly how it happened. The whole thing with his gran, not to mention the fact that he was the only one who knew his secret -- and was keeping it -- made him feel simultaneously more kindly disposed towards the little weirdo while also slightly uncomfortable. Between Angel’s gentle ribbing, Dot’s continued misunderstanding, and his own treacherous and unpredictable reactions to Barry’s presence, he just felt confused half the time he was around. But he found himself seeking him out much more than he used to, and not always just to make fun of him. When they ate lunch during community service, he always sat down next to him, without even realizing what he was doing. When he saw Barry struggling to lift a heavy box during one of their tasks, he rushed over to help him before Kelly got there, which earned him a funny look from her and made him panic that she had heard something -- he didn’t even know what -- in his mind. He was already having a hard enough time keeping her from overhearing about the drag, let alone with this … whatever this was.

 

And then Barry started inviting him over to his house.

 

It started out innocently enough. They were leaving Dot’s house and Barry asked him what he was going to eat for dinner, and Nathan shrugged, because he basically ate whatever he could get, and that was usually crisps or something from the vending machine, or a kebab if he could scrape up the change. Barry got a weird, tight-lipped look on his face, and then asked him if he wanted a pizza. Nathan was smart enough not to turn down free food, despite his general wariness over his changing relationship with Barry, and so he agreed.

 

“My parents aren’t home,” Barry said. “We can eat at my house and um, watch some TV if you want. Actually, there’s something you might be interested in watching.”

 

“Something” turned out to be  _ RuPaul’s Drag Race _ , which Nathan had heard plenty about but never been able to watch, lacking a television, a computer that could reliably play video without dying, and money. But it turned out Barry had recorded a bunch of episodes from the most recent series, just for him. Nathan didn’t know what to think about that, but he was excited to watch it.

 

It became a thing. A few times a week, whenever the rest of the Bellamys were out, Nathan would come over, eat some real food (takeout, usually, though one time Barry made him a fry up and it was like fucking heaven) and they’d watch as many episodes as they could. Nathan’s favorite queen was Raja. Barry favored Manila, and when pressed as to why, confessed, a little red-faced, that she reminded him of Nathan, a statement that both confounded and excited Nathan, but he just winked and said something about how, yes, he was pretty amazing, and Barry grinned at him in that way of his, and they dropped it.

 

And then everything changed.

 

The night started out ordinary enough. They were watching the most recent episode, and Nathan was practicing his walk, imitating the different techniques that the contestants did on the runway. He was wearing his biggest heels, which he was still getting used to, and just a tank top and shorts. Every so often he’d look over at Barry, and sometimes he’d catch him watching him instead of the telly, and he’d drag his gaze away quickly and look back at the screen. 

 

When the lip sync started, he threw himself onto the couch next to Barry and took off the heels, rubbing his sore feet. And then they sat there and watched, open mouthed, as Raja and Carmen Carerra writhed erotically against each other on the stage to Paula Abdul’s “Straight Up”.

 

“Well,” Nathan said, any remaining qualms about his sexuality effectively silenced by his reaction to that entire display. At some point he and Barry had sort of slid closer together on the couch and he was suddenly very aware of it, and thought maybe he should get up again, but before he could do that, Barry leaned over and kissed him.

 

He only froze for a minute. He was just a little shocked, though he wasn’t quite sure why, since the lead up had been long and arduous and had been pretty much all he could think about when he wasn’t daydreaming about drag or studiously avoiding thinking about anything while Kelly’s presence. He just hadn’t expected Barry to be the one to make the first move. He’d thought that he’d have to do it, and was still stuck in a turmoil over whether he should ignore it or risk ruining the very nice arrangement they had going on by getting his dick involved. But now, with Barry’s trembling lips against his, and his tentative tongue poking at them, he decided to say fuck off to caution.

 

Pretty soon they were making out on the couch, Barry a little clumsy and fumbling but red hot, his hands roaming over Nathan’s body again and again while Nathan whined, the noises stifled by Barry’s mouth. They didn’t notice that the episode had ended and the television had gone black; they didn’t notice that it was nearly nine o’clock; they didn’t notice the front door opening and closing, and footsteps in the front hall.

 

When Mrs. Bellamy stepped into the room, Nathan was on his back on the couch, one leg curled around Barry’s waist, his hands struggling with Barry’s belt, and Barry had his hands up Nathan’s shirt, rubbing up and down his sides as he kissed Nathan’s neck. She had to clear her throat three times to get them to notice.

 

“Uh,” Barry said, intelligently. Nathan had just managed to finally unhook his belt and his fingers were resting on the button of his trousers, and so when Barry surged backwards, he had to hastily refasten it, his face blazing red. Nathan, meanwhile, pushed his shirt down, scrambled into a sitting position, bit his lip and waited to see how everything was going to play out.

 

Mrs. Bellamy raised an eyebrow, and then her eyes fell on discarded high heels that Nathan had dumped on the floor. “This is Nathan, I take it,” she said. She looked a lot like Barry, same coloring, similar facial expressions, too. Which was how Nathan could tell she was neither scandalized -- nor surprised. “Nice to meet you,” she nodded to him. “Simon, in the future, be a little more discreet. What if your sister was the first person to walk in here?”

 

As if summoned by mention of her existence, the aforementioned sister poked her head in the doorway. She was carry a pair of ice skates. “Simon,” she said, “I did a triple toe-loop!” Then she noticed Nathan. “Oh, hello,” she said. “Are you Nathan?”

 

“Yeah,” he said. He looked at Barry curiously, but he was carefully avoiding his gaze. “I guess my reputation preceeds me.”

 

Barry’s sister giggled. “Oh yeah, Simon’s always like,  _ Nathan this, Nathan that. Nathan said the funniest thing today _ .” She lowered her voice in an attempt to sound like her brother, but it just made her sound like she had a sore throat. 

 

“Shut up, Immie,” Barry said, his face getting impossibly redder. 

 

His sister stuck her tongue out and ran away cackling, while her mother called after her, “Imogen, don’t tease your brother. And brush your teeth before you go to bed.”

 

Nathan stood up and located his sneakers, and then shoved his heels into his backpack as nonchalantly as he could. “I should get going,” he said.

 

Mrs. Bellamy turned back. “Do you want a ride home?” She glanced at her son. “Simon, you can borrow the car.”

 

“I can walk,” Nathan said at the same time that Barry answered, “Sure, thanks.” They looked at each other. Nathan shrugged. 

  
  


They made weak and awkward goodbyes, then trooped out into the car, still warm in the driveway. They sat in the car in silence for a minute after Simon turned the car.

 

“Didn’t know you could drive,” Nathan said.

 

“I passed the test a few months ago,” Barry murmured. “Listen --”

 

“You told your family about me?” Nathan mumbled. 

 

Barry blushed. “Well, I mean -- really, Gran mentioned you, and then it kind of -- all came out.”

 

“All? Everything?”

 

“I mean,” he said, “they know about Gran’s dresses, and why she’s teaching you to sew and everything.” He let out a shaky breath. “Is that okay?”

 

Nathan shrugged. “I guess it’s fine.” 

 

Barry reversed the car out of the drive and they began to make their way to the community center. 

 

“Your mum doesn’t seem to mind,” he said. “About -- that. And -- what we were doing.”  _ What were we doing? _ was what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t quite manage it.

 

“Well, she’s not bigoted, if that’s what you mean,” Barry said, a little defensively.

 

Nathan thought of his mother sneering about men dressing up in women’s clothing and said nothing.

 

When they reached the community center, Barry parked the car but didn’t turn it off. Nathan reached down and grabbed his backpack and put his hand on the door handle to open it.

 

“Well, thanks for the ride,” he said, or started to, but Barry interrupted him.

 

“Would you mind -- uh, can I kiss you again?”

 

Nathan raised his eyebrow. “What, you’re asking now, and not just lunging at me, lips first?” At Barry’s abashed look, he rolled his eyes. “Calm your tits down, I obviously didn’t mind that much.”

 

“So can I?”

 

Nathan shrugged. “If you want to,” he said, suddenly weirdly nervous. He’d been ready to give Barry a fucking handy twenty minutes ago, but after the sobering interruption of the other Bellamys, revelations that apparently Barry’d been talking to them about Nathan’s drag career (and possibly other things about him, too), and this awkward as fuck car ride, he was wondering if maybe he’d temporarily lost his mind. But he still kind of wanted to do it, anyway.

 

Barry leaned over the center console and kissed him, almost politely. Nathan waited a moment, then pulled back, muttered, “For fuck’s sake, Barry,” and stuck his tongue right down his throat. There. That was better. At least he was too busy to think about whether this was a bad idea or not. 

 

They picked up where they’d left off at the house, Barry scrambling over the console to push Nathan up against the door, until Nathan’s elbow accidentally hit the window control and it started opening behind his head, which made them take a little break. 

 

“Want to come up to my place?” Nathan asked a little breathlessly. This position was doing a number on his back, not that his mattress in the community center was any better.

 

Barry flushed. “I -- I shouldn’t -- my parents will be expecting me back soon.”

 

Nathan sighed and pushed Barry off of him. “Well, good night then,” he said. He wasn’t really looking forward to another night of solitary wanking. 

 

“Wait,” Barry said, “I -- I do want to, you know. A lot. I have for awhile. I just … well, you know. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

Barry looked so flushed and earnest that Nathan couldn’t help but forgive him, even if he had wound him right up and then left him hanging (or not as the case may be). And to be honest, past a certain point, Nathan wasn’t totally sure what he was doing, either -- not that he was going to let Barry know that. He had a reputation to protect, and he’d faked his way through plenty of amorous encounters in the past. 

 

“Well,” he said, opening the door and getting out, “you’re going to have to make it up to me next time, right, Barry?”

 

Barry grinned, slowly. “Sure,” he said. “Next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is set in 2011 (so a bit after series 2, bit an alternate version without Superhoodie, Seth, Marnie, etc. But they still got caught with the car and got sent back to community service.)
> 
> The season of Drag Race they are watching is season 3. The lip sync mentioned is this one: https://youtu.be/dxmio3hSwOU
> 
> And this is Manila if you are unfamiliar with her: https://youtu.be/BaxCa7M2I_s
> 
> Finally I know Ru is super problematic in a lot of ways but it’s still such an important show and the primary way a lot of people learn about drag, which is why I included it. You can have issues with Ru but still want to support the hardworking queens on the show!

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note about gender identity and drag:
> 
> Drag is an art form, or a profession, or both, really. All sorts of people who identify in different ways do drag: cisgender people, trans people, nonbinary people, genderqueer people, etc. Angel is cis, so she uses female pronouns while in drag and male pronouns while out of it. Other queens might prefer different pronouns.


End file.
